Better Left Unsaid
by WhiteFerrets
Summary: A family wasn't about blood and marriage. It was about love, about caring, about knowing. No matter what they say, you can choose your family. And I chose the Weasleys as mine. Teddy. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: JKR owns HP.**

**A/N: This has been sitting in my folder for months, unfinished and unedited. Bored, unable to sleep, with nothing better to do, I decided it was time to dig it out again. An hour later, and here I am, with a finished, edited piece. I hope it doesn't bore you.  
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I paused outside the door to the attic, eyes glued to the keyhole, dusty but still managing to shine. In the nineteen years of living in the house, I had not once stepped foot into the attic. Dad always said it was a secret place, filled with unwanted memories and secrets of the past. He'd told me that there were things in there he didn't want us kids to know, things that were better left a secret.

To ensure we truly never did enter the room, Dad had locked it with a key, charmed to be only thing – object, spell, or weapon – that could break the seal, allow us inside. None of us ever knew what happened to the key after that; I was only eight at the time, James was a toddler, Albus had only just been born. When Dad explained to the others about the room at the top of the house, they started to come with theories on where he'd hidden the key.

Lily suggested that he'd probably thrown it away, into the ocean or down a sewer. Albus, the ever-logical one, was certain that our father had hidden it in a Gringotts Vault, one of high security. James, who was the typical teenager at this point, teased that he might have hidden it in our Mum's underwear drawer. This suggestion resulted in a slap round the back of the head from me, and from Lily.

I never liked to think about where he kept the key. When he first locked it, the way he looked at me as he spoke, as he told me not to try to go in, I _knew _how serious he was. I could see it in his face, in his eyes, in the way he held me by the shoulders and crouched down so our eyes were level. I knew he truly didn't want me to know what was inside, I knew he was passionate about keeping us out … and so I refused to let myself wonder. While the kids thought over ways to break in, or came up with places their dad could have hidden the key, I would hide myself behind a book, determined to stay out of the conversation.

I had no idea, and neither did the others, that Dad kept the key with him every day, in the back pocket of his trousers or in the chest pocket of his shirt. I also had no idea that Mum had a duplicate key, which she had kept on a chain, hung around her neck. I saw the necklace numerous times, but it never occurred to me that the key actually worked.

However, in their last will and testaments, they had granted ownership of the keys to Aunt Hermione and myself. When I first received the key, three months ago, I had no intention of using it, faithful to the promise I made to my father. I had been determined to live up to my newly-deceased father's wishes, to keep out of the room he had tried so hard to protect me from.

Two weeks ago, my cousin – Fred – approached me, intending to knock some sense into my mourning brain. He told me that if my dad had wanted me to stay out of the room forever, he wouldn't have left the key in my possession after he died. And my mum wouldn't have left Aunt Hermione the key without good reason, either. It had taken a while for me to pick up the courage, it had taken many times for me to approach the door without turning away, but now I was here, standing in front of the solid, polished oak door, hands in pockets, fighting against the knot in my stomach.

Wrapping my fingers around the small, golden key in my pocket, I withdrew my hand and angled the tiny metal piece so it lined up with they keyhole. Before I could change my mind, I shoved the key into the hole and twisted it. As I heard the click of the door unlocking, the knot in my stomach grew and my heart beat faster; I just wanted to leave. The Gryffindor within me, however, wouldn't allow this. It convinced me to take the key out again, to swing the door open. It forced me further into the room, made me look around and examine my surroundings.

The room wasn't very impressive. Dusty, cobwebbed bookcases lined the walls, filled with old, battered books in all states of indecency. In some places, the dust looked unsettled. A fine line where dust lacked ran along some of the binders, as if someone had recently ran a finger along them. The floor was a messy array of dusty wooden planks, with small holes and slits; nothing big enough to slip into, but big enough to make the place look untidy. On that floor, several boxes lay scattered throughout. Six large ones, all labelled, and several unlabelled, small ones. The large ones reached up to my waist, and stretched to just under one of my arm length's. The ones with labels were disturbed, the dust rubbed away from the labels to reveal the writing.

I don't know why it took me so long to realise, but then it hit me – Aunt Hermione had already been in here.

I walked over to one box, labelled _Hogwarts_, and knelt down beside it, pulling apart the flaps at the top. Within it, I found a series of objects, ranging from interesting, to suspicious, to dull. The first item was a black journal, or so it appeared, that looked as if it had been stabbed and then drowned in ink. The sight of the messed up book unnerved me but I flicked through it's pages, disappointed to find it empty. Somewhat reluctantly, I put it back in it's place, withdrawing another item. This one felt heavy and, upon retrieving it from the box, I noticed it was a large, golden egg with delicately imprinted designs on it's shell. On the top was a clasp, which I unscrewed. A loud, wailing noise escaped the golden object and, wincing and groaning at the sound, I slammed it shut, almost throwing it back into the box. I also found a series of love letters written from Mum to Dad, dated from 1993 to 1999, the subject ranging from how much she wanted him to notice her, to how much she loved him, to how much she wished he hadn't left. I didn't understand it, but I didn't expect to. Along with these, I found many broken quills, notes presumably sent between friends in class, a broken mirror, and Chocolate Frog card collections.

Once that box was searched thoroughly, I pulled the next one over. _12 Grimmauld Place_, the label stated. The address rung a bell but I couldn't put my finger on it, and so I let it be, opening the box. Inside, I found mainly things on parchment or paper – letters, stories, photographs. I pulled out a few of the photographs at random, though they meant barely anything to me. Four boys, ranging in height, stood in front of the Black Lake, grinning and laughing and messing around. One of them looked shockingly like Dad, but with round glasses and differently-shaped eyes. He looked a lot more carefree and joyous than Dad, less experiences, less mature yet more confident. Almost arrogant, in fact. Next to him, a man stood with an equal air of importance. He had shaggy, dark hair, barely covering his ears, and, although seemingly more mature than the other boy, he still had a childlike nature. On the other side of the Dad-look-a-like stood the shortest, with a pinched nose and an adoring look in his eye. He was chubby, but not too plump, and he seemed like the kind of kid you'd coo over when you walked through the park. At the end of the row, a rather reserved-looking teenager stood awkwardly, though still laughing. His skin was covered with scars and his eyes looked weary and tired. My heart reached out for this boy, someone who had clearly suffered too much for his age.

The other pictures consisted of these four boys again, sometimes only a couple of them, sometimes with a couple of girls – a redhead, geeky-looking girl and a bubbly but chubby girl. I tried to read some of the letters but the writing was often smudged, had faded with age, and was terribly messy. I gave up after a few minutes, returning everything into the box and looking round, reaching for another.

The next one was labelled _Post-Hogwarts_, and contained small things like useless wedding presents, baby toys and books that I recognised from when Lily was of that age, photos from parties and family dinners before any of the kids were born, and other small, inconsequential things. It didn't take long to rummage through that box.

Looking around, I noticed the other boxes were on the other side of the room and so I stood up, rubbed the dust off of my shins and walked over, crouching down in front of the boxes. As I reached to open one labelled _Before Hogwarts_, another label caught my eye, distracting me. _For Teddy,_ it said in Dad's familiar, scruffy handwriting. My heartbeat picked up at the sight of my name; Dad kept a box especially for me. Falling from my crouch onto my knees, I shuffled over to that box and put my hands on it, unsettling the dust on the top. I looked at the other boxes, trying to see their labels, before I opened the one in front of me. I was hesitating, I know, but I couldn't help it. I saw another one labelled _For Hermione_, and I reasoned that – as Dad and Aunt Hermione had always been good friends – Dad would want to leave her with special memories and things, without putting them all into the will.

I was suddenly aware of how quiet it was in the attic, the silence only disturbed by the sound of my breathing and the rustling of my clothes or the boxes as I moved around. I was filled with a sense of loneliness, a feeling that was no longer a stranger to me, but was still unwelcome. Heart still drumming loudly in my chest, I opened the flaps and positioned myself higher so I could see into the box clearer. At the top lay an envelope, pearl white but covered in dust. I lifted it out and blew the dust off, rubbing at it to make sure there wasn't any left. The envelope was blank, but there needn't be anything written on it. With fumbling fingers, I ripped the envelope open and slid it's contents – a folded piece of parchment – out of it, unfolding it as I dropped the envelope to the floor.

_Dear Teddy_, it said, in Dad's all-too-familiar scrawl.

_If you're reading this, that means I'm dead. I rewrote my final will and testament today; it's your eighteenth birthday, in case you're wondering. It's almost over – only a few minutes until midnight. We've been warned that there might be an attack on us – on your mother and I, that is – so we want to be prepared._

_There are so many things I regret, Teddy, so many things you need to know but never asked about. I shouldn't have made you grow up so fast, but it was what I was used to, and so I inflicted that on you. But compared to what I'm about to write next, maturing you early must seem like nothing. I never hid from you the knowledge that I adopted you, that your mother and I aren't your biological parents. You always knew that and, every day, I was expecting you to ask questions about those parents, the ones who allowed you to be part of this world. I prepared myself for the day you asked exactly who your real parents were. But you never did. I wonder why that is. I guess, now, I'll never know._

_But I feel like you have a right to know, and so I've put this box together for you. It contains not only objects from your childhood, but things of your biological parents' past. However, items cannot tell a story, and so in this letter, I shall tell you all about Remus and Nymphadora Lupin._

_Remus John Lupin was a wise man who was forced into experiencing something terrible from such a young age. At the age of six, Remus was turned into a werewolf and rejected by society for it. Every full moon, he had to go through a change, an excruciatingly painful change. At age eleven, Albus Dumbledore (you already know about him) allowed Remus into Hogwarts, planting the Whomping Willow and hiding a secret passageway, where Remus escaped to every full moon. He befriended three people at Hogwarts – Sirius Black, James Potter and Peter Pettigrew. They became the Marauders. James was Prongs, Sirius was Padfoot, Remus was Moony, and Peter was Wormtail. They were faithful friends, illegally becoming Animagi to guide your father through those lonely full moon nights. James and Sirius, my father and godfather, grew up to be amazing people. However, Peter Pettigrew betrayed the three of them, turning to Voldemort and telling him where my father and my mother, Lily, were hiding. I'm sure you know what comes next – the story your mother told you, about how I became the Boy-Who-Lived. After the death of my parents, the framing of my godfather, and the escape of Pettigrew, your father was left alone, forced to face each full moon by himself again. _

_Your mother, sadly, I do not know as much about. Her name was Nymphadora Tonks, though she hated it, insisting on being called Tonks, and Tonks only. She was a Metamorphmagus, like you. She was a witty, quick-tongued woman, manipulative and compassionate. Unlike your Gryffindor of a father, Tonks was sorted into Hufflepuff at Hogwarts. I guess you follow in your father's footsteps on this occasion; Tonks wouldn't have liked that, seen it as a competition. She was a very competitive type, your mother. Always trying to outdo everyone, usually managing to make a fool of herself in the process. Very clumsy, very sarcastic, very determined. When she wanted something, she wouldn't give up until she got it._

_Your father was thirteen years older than your mother, but she loved him and she knew he felt the same way. I'm not going to lie to you, Teddy, you're an adult now and you deserve the truth … your father caused your mother a lot of pain, rejecting her time and time again. I can see his reasoning; he was old, poor and dangerous, unfamiliar with being loved and afraid of big changes. But we all knew that he returned those feelings, and I think we all agreed how stupid he acted, resisting her and arguing with her. However, needless to say, she won him over eventually. They married and Tonks gave birth to you, but we were in the midst of a war; it was a dangerous time, even more so for small children. _

_Then the battle started and they reluctantly left you with your Grams. It was a tough decision, but the Auror in them overpowered them; they didn't like feeling helpless, and so they left for the battle. Please know this, Teddy – they didn't intentionally abandon you. They were fighting for the greater good, they died as heroes. They loved you, Teddy, they loved you so much. The last thing they wanted was to lose you, to have you grow up without them._

_They were good people, extraordinarily so. Loved and admired by many; respected, idolized. Not only were they good, but they were in love. It didn't matter to them that there was an age gap, it didn't matter that your father was a werewolf, it didn't matter that he barely had enough money to keep a roof over his head, let alone pay for meals and buy your mother jewellery; all that mattered was their love. _

_Don't forget, Teddy – just because you know about them now, it doesn't mean that Ginny and I aren't your real parents. Just because we may not be with you any more, just because we may have joined your biological parents in the afterlife, it doesn't make us any less real. Yes, Remus and Tonks are your real real parents, but Ginny and I … we can still be your real parents, too, right?_

_Look at the contents of this box. Treasure them. I hope they help you connect with Remus and Tonks._

_All my love,  
Dad._

By the end of the letter, I had given up trying to fight his tears, and now they ran freely down my face. Dad always had a way to explain things, to make them better, easier. He never felt accomplished unless he'd informed people of all the inside facts, all the little details.

With shaking hands, I laid the letter down next to me and examined the box. Inside, I found several pictures of a man and a woman – my mum and dad, presumably. There were pictures of them smiling, of them laughing, of them in love. Dad was right – they _were _in love. Some of the pictures had a baby in them, each time the baby had different hair, and I knew it was me. The way the woman looked at me, the way the man held me … I knew they loved me, too.

I felt guilty, knowing I didn't feel the same way about them as they clearly felt about me. I wanted to love them, I did, but they were strangers. They may have been my biological parents, but no one could replace Harry and Ginny. They were my real parents; they always have been, and they always would. Nothing, not even the knowledge of who my parents were, could change that.

I placed the pictures beside me before looking back into the box. I sifted through some of my old baby clothes and toys, sorted through some of Tonks' jewellery and chocolate wrappers of brands I didn't even recognise (ones from Remus' teenage years, I could only presume), rolled my eyes at the lovey-dovey love letters Tonks wrote to Remus at some point. They were worse than the ones Mum wrote to Dad in school, and they were pretty cringe-worthy. Once I'd cleared the box out, I found a small, tatty shoebox at the bottom. I lifted it out and set it on my lap, taking off the lid and anxiously looking inside. Merlin knows what was in there; it could have been anything, even more disgusting love letters.

But inside, I found nothing of the sort. There was a familiar, dark material inside, with a letter on the top. I unfolded the parchment, shocked at the shortness of the note.

_Teddy,__  
You must solemnly swear that you're up to no good.  
Once your task is complete, be sure to announce that mischief is managed.  
Use them well.  
Love, Dad._

Inside the box was a cloak and a blank bit of parchment. The parchment I recognised from when James nicked it from Dad's study, but Dad got it back a couple of years later and I hadn't seen it since. The cloak – Merlin knows what that was in there for. I'd figure it out eventually, I supposed, even if I had to turn to Aunt Hermione or Uncle Ron for guidance.

Slowly, I replaced all the items – all the jewellery and photographs and baby clothes – back into the large box, only keeping the letter and the shoebox contents out. I tidied and sorted those things into aforementioned shoebox and sighed. Dad, although a wonderful person, always had horrible timing. Still grieving over the murder of my parents, the last thing I wanted was for one of those deceased parents to force on me the fact that they weren't my "real" parents. But they were. I couldn't stop thinking about it. Harry and Ginny; they raised me, they saw me through everything. Blood and body organs was the only thing we never shared, and that didn't matter to me.

A family wasn't about blood and marriage. It was about love, about caring, about knowing. No matter what they say, you _can _choose your family. I knew that, and I embraced it.

Picking myself off of the attic floor, I tucked the shoebox under my arm as I retreated from the room, making sure to lock the door on my way out. I ran down the stairs from the attic and power-walked straight towards my room, where I slid the shoebox under my bed and sat on the mattress, putting my head in my hands and resting my elbows on my knees.

I had a _lot _to think about. Thanks, Dad.


End file.
